


serious moonlight

by Molly



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-10
Updated: 2009-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 13:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molly/pseuds/Molly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'd built a friendship around the edges of the looks Kris didn't see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	serious moonlight

Kris lost Adam in the crowd somewhere between the third and fourth drink, and headed for high ground. The crush on the stairs thinned a little near the top, leaving just enough space to push through without molesting anybody. He made for the railing, his glass curled into his chest for protection, and zeroed in on a few inches of space between two guys with their backs to each other. The music was even louder up here, a belting, pulsing rhythm that made apologies impossible; he wedged himself in, hoping for the best, and breathed a sigh of relief when they shifted to make room.

The ledge was wide enough he could set his drink down on its little square napkin and lean over, scanning the crowd below. It was useless; the lights, blue and green, violet and orange, strobed over upturned faces that all looked the same. Pale or dark, wide or narrow, it didn't make any difference -- everyone was lost in the music. Earlier on it had been Adam's voice, now it was someone else, and it bothered him that nobody seemed to care about the difference. Kris cared; he'd had to look away from the unsafe sheen of sweat on Adam's throat as he tipped his head back to drink, the satisfied edge to his smile that cut into Kris too deep. Adam's voice so sweet and dark and _loud_, like it was coming from inside Kris's head, and Adam's eyes on him so sharp and bright, it was too much. He'd looked away, and the crowd had pushed between them, and when he turned back to reach for Adam's hand, Adam was gone.

Now Kris felt like he was the one who was lost. He'd been trailing after Adam like the tail on a comet for hours, and without him, there was nothing to do but drift. He could see everything -- the stairs, the bar, the sound booth, the mob down by the door -- but nothing pulled him in. He was just drunk enough to appreciate the railing for being solid and stationary, and the guys on either side of him for keeping him upright. He wasn't drunk enough to try to make it back to the hotel on his own, or to leave without the friend who'd brought him.

While he was trying to find a happy medium between bolting and dying on the second floor of a club he didn't even know the name of, a pair of hands bracketed his on the ledge and a warm, solid body pressed up against him from behind. Kris jumped and tried to turn, but the arms on either side of him held him still. He recognized Skingraft's distinctive zippers and grommets just as Adam murmured, "Hey, it's okay, it's just me," in his ear.

Kris looked over his shoulder. Adam's eyes were half-lidded and glittering, his face slack, just barely smiling. He was gone; not so far he couldn't function, but far enough that there wasn't much in him but dancing. His body swayed, taking Kris's with him, moving them both slowly to the steady throb of the music. "You're wasted," Kris accused, grinning.

"Not so, little one," Adam said. "I'm high on life."

"You're high on weed," Kris said. "And vodka for sure, and I don't wanna know what else."

"And you're totally sober." Adam nudged at Kris with his hips, and smiled when Kris bobbled, losing his rhythm and almost his balance, too. "Oh, Kristopher. Such a good boy you are. You'd blow the top off any decent breathalyzer, with drunk to spare."

"My fans are right. You're a terrible influence."

Adam's arms closed around Kris's waist, drawing him in tight. "They haven't seen anything yet."

Kris laughed, letting his head fall back. He was a little drunk; whatever. Last night of the tour, last night before they were out in the world with the training wheels off, he deserved a little break from sobriety. Anyway, it felt good to have Adam there; it wasn't like they'd had a lot of time to just chill together lately. Too much recording and rehearsing, not enough time for friends; Kris just hoped the tour wasn't a preview of what was coming. It was hard enough to keep up with Adam when he slept six feet from the guy almost every night. He didn't want to think about how hard it was going to be working on different albums, maybe in different cities, going on different tours.

He didn't want to think.

And Adam was on board with that plan; he just held on and rocked, and Kris let himself get wrapped up and carried along. He covered Adam's arms with his own, stroking his fingers over the leather sleeves. He was glad it wasn't the tour jacket; as much as Adam loved it, that was not a jacket Kris ever wanted to dance with. This leather was warm, brown, sleek as oil under his fingertips. He sighed, and closed his eyes, and hung on.

"Tired, babe?"

"Not really. Not too much."

Adam leaned in closer. "Hmm?"

Kris turned a little, wrapped one hand around the back of Adam's neck to pull him down and say, "No," directly into his ear, pitched low to get beneath the music. "Why, do you want to go?"

Adam chuckled; Kris could feel the vibration of it against his shoulder. "No, I'm good," he said, "this is good," and rubbed a hand over Kris's belly, sliding the other to his hip. "Let's dance."

Kris's stomach fluttered; his face went red and warm. Too much alcohol, he thought, I should stop, but it was hot with Adam pushed in so close behind him, with the heat of a hundred or more bodies rising up from below, and there was a bead of condensation slipping down the outside of his glass. He snagged it and drank deep; it was nightmare-red and tasted like vodka and candy.

"Me, too," Adam said, but he didn't move his hands. Kris raised his glass, clumsy, trying to tip it just right into Adam's lips. It spilled over them too fast, and Kris tried to pull it back but Adam followed, catching at the straw with his teeth and draining it down to ice. Kris laughed and set the glass back on the ledge, then reached to wipe at Adam's chin. His fingers skimmed the edges of Adam's mouth before he brought them to his own and licked them clean. Vodka and candy, and if Kris had ever been inclined to wonder what Adam tasted like, that would have been a perfectly logical guess.

"Sweet," Kris said. Not really to Adam; he didn't even mean to say it. But it made Adam hiss in a breath, and when he looked up and over his shoulder, Adam's eyes were on him, hot and bright like a fire. Kris wasn't supposed to see it, he knew Adam wouldn't want him to see; they'd built a friendship around the edges of the looks Kris didn't see. _Sweet,_ Kris thought, his own breath catching in his throat. He didn't look away like he should have, and the hand on his stomach shifted off, then swept back up under his t-shirt, warm palm rubbing restlessly at his skin.

"Kris," Adam said, a puff of air in his ear, and Kris shivered; and then Adam's mouth was open against his throat, just above his collar, his tongue spread slow and hot over Kris's skin. Kris went still, shock held him still while Adam bit at his neck, breathed wet heat through the t-shirt into his shoulder, ran his fingers in light, shivery circles at his waist. He could feel the line of Adam's jacket along his back, and the hard line of Adam's cock along the seam of his jeans, and the length of Adam's thigh against the back of his leg; he felt it when Adam when still and quiet behind him, felt the tension like icewater down his back when Adam started to pull away.

Adam said, "Kris," and it was different, came from too far off, unacceptably far, so Kris said, "no," and put his hand over Adam's, the thin stretch of his shirt caught between them, and he held Adam there, because the alternative was letting him go. Crazy, even the thought of that, when it felt so good, when it was Adam, all over him, wrapping him tight and locking him into his own skin. He held on until Adam's fingers twitched beneath his and resumed their slow, easy strokes; until Adam leaned in again and said into his ear, "...Kris?"

"Adam," Kris said, turning his head just enough, and Adam's mouth came down on his, wide and beautiful, opening him up. Kris shuddered, feeling it deep, the sweep of Adam's tongue in his mouth, sure and hot, the push of Adam's cock against him, full and thick, nothing he'd ever known before this. He thought he might have fallen in the wake of it, so hard he was dizzy with it, but Adam's leg pushed between his, riding up against his ass, a sweet slide behind his balls. Kris sucked in a sharp breath, his head falling back, and the hand on his belly slid higher while the one on his hip went lower. Adam's fingers sketched over his chest, thumbed at his nipple; they slid over Kris's cock, between his legs. Adam's mouth slid down Kris's cheek, down to the corded muscle of his neck, and bit; and Kris made a sound he didn't know he could make, his mouth wide, his head thrown back, every part of him _Adam's_, every part of him wanting everything that came next.

Adam laughed; it sounded shaky, uncontrolled, nothing like Adam at all. He pushed Kris forward, wedged him against the railing, spread out like a gift for anyone who happened to look. Kris wanted to care, but he couldn't; there were too many people anyway, too many bodies, their backs like a wall, turning this one perfect spot into a private room for two. Adam pushed against him, grinding, his breath stuttering in Kris's ear; and Kris pushed back, because Adam's hand on his cock was the most beautiful thing he'd ever felt, a brilliant buzz of heat and pleasure winding up and up until Kris thought he would die of it, and he didn't want to go alone.

"Jesus, Kris," Adam said, "this is, you, you're," and he licked at Kris's neck again, and again, until Kris found his mouth and took it, plunged his tongue inside to taste, to prove he was there, to convince himself Adam was. He bit at Adam's lower lip, soft, and Adam groaned so deep in his chest Kris could feel it along his back. "Jesus," Adam said into his mouth, and this time it sounded like gratitude. "What...what can I..."

"Anything," Kris said, "please, Adam, just touch me, please--" and then he couldn't speak at all, because Adam was sliding his zipper down. Kris held his breath as Adam thumbed the button of his jeans open, gasped for more air when his hand slid inside. And then Adam's fingers curled around him, and Kris buried a shout in the kiss before he broke it, head falling back limp against Adam's shoulder.

"Anybody could see," Adam whispered in his ear, sliding his hand down Kris's length. "Anybody could see you spread wide open for me, so beautiful, Kris..."

His face heated; it wasn't really true, nobody was looking, nobody cared. But it was hot, the wildest, hottest thing he'd ever thought of, and he turned his face to hide it in Adam's throat, moaning softly as Adam stroked him soft and easy, a slow, wringing squeeze that made him buck into Adam's hand, made him shudder and bite his lip. He raised his other arm, linked hands behind Adam's neck, leaving himself completely exposed. His shirt rode up on his belly, and Adam's hand pushed it up further, until he felt the air, the heat, the pulse of the music on his skin. His nipples were so tight they almost hurt. Adam's fingers plucked at them, made it worse, and so much better; Kris groaned, and bit at him again, and rubbed his cock harder into Adam's hand until Adam said, "Fuck, Kris, just...turn the fuck around."

He let Adam turn him, not sure he had the will or the strength; and when they were face to face, he opened Adam's pants without even thinking. He hooked an arm around Adam's neck, and one leg around his hips; he would have climbed Adam like a tree if he'd known what he was doing, but he trusted Adam to handle the rest. He pressed in as close as he could, hissed when Adam wrapped one hand around the back of his neck and the other around his cock.

The railing was a solid brace against his back. Adam pushed a sloppy, wet kiss into Kris's mouth, and another, and then pressed their foreheads together and said, "Hang on, baby, I have you, just hang on," and Kris felt Adam's cock against his, hard and hot, felt Adam squeeze them both. They were both wet now, slick, sliding against each other; Kris looked down into the private space they'd made, watched Adam's thumb glide over the head of his cock, and then over his own. He bit his lip, trying to stay quiet, before he remembered it didn't matter. The music was the world's best soundproofing.

So he tilted his head and said it, right by Adam's ear, "God, Adam, you're so good, so beautiful..." and bit at his earlobe gently, "don't stop, okay, don't you stop," and ran his fingers over Adam's face, his sweet familiar face that Kris loved in so many different ways. He trailed his hand down Adam's chest, over his stomach, down to cover Adam's hand with his own, wind their fingers together. "Love how you touch me," he said, and they worked at each other, clumsy and hot and fast now, faster, "love it, Adam, _please_" and Adam's rhythm broke and he shuddered, arched, and spilled over both of their hands.

Kris kept their hands moving, slower, softer, wet; until Adam's breathing came even again and he pressed a kiss against Kris's jaw, and then his mouth, sweet and lingering. He pulled back just enough to say, "Your turn," and then he pushed Kris's hand away and took his cock in a slick, firm grip. His hand slid over Kris again and again, never quite tight enough, never quite there enough; making Kris push for it, twist his hips into it, begging with his body until he thought he'd go crazy from the _almost_ of it.

"So good, baby," Adam said, his smile knife-edged with satisfaction. "God, you're sweet, look at you," and he bent his head down and swiped his tongue against Kris's nipple, sucked it in, licked, bit, and his hand went viciously tight around Kris's cock and it was _beautiful_, unbearable and beautiful and Kris came apart in Adam's hands, under his mouth, in his arms, like nothing he'd ever felt or done before.

He was still shaking when Adam reached over his shoulder and snagged the napkin from under the remnants of his drink. It was damp from condensation, and cool against his skin. Adam cleaned them both up as best he could, buttoned and zipped and smoothed Kris's shirt down over his stomach gently, never quite meeting Kris's eyes. When he was done, his hands rested on Kris's hips, loose, like he was ready to let go any second.

Kris's hands were on Adam's shoulders, not loose at all. Not ready to let go, at all. His grip tightened, just at the thought; and a second later Adam's did, too, the easy pressure of his hands going tight and possessive. Kris smiled, and when he looked up Adam was finally looking back, a relieved smile starting in the corners of his eyes before spreading down to his mouth. Adam leaned down, and Kris thought he was going to kiss him; wanted Adam to kiss him, and about a hundred other things he'd never even thought of, but Adam just brushed his lips against Kris's ear and murmured, "Okay, _that_ was inappropriate."

Kris threw his head back and laughed, and slid his hands under the collar of Adam's jacket, around the back of Adam's neck, and pulled him in.


End file.
